England fail to wriggle off Welsh Hook

Some of the best was saved for last. What a rousing, heartwarming spectacle of adventure and intensity in the gloaming of the championship this was, with nothing at stake but pride and the perennial lust to clobber the old enemy. In this remarkable cauldron it was stirring to see sinews and spirits stretched to the limit in a fixture embroidered by the usual historical animosity, but bearing no significance at all in the championship after the almost unbearable drama that had gone before in Rome and Paris.

Ultimately, Welsh know-how triumphed. England, who promised a revival in beating France, the champions, will be disappointed but encouraged too.

There were some outstanding snatches of brilliance from both sides, predominantly Wales, and much of it in the first half. James Hook had the sort of game that can define a player as that most cherished of Welsh rugby commodities, the peerless, swaggering No 10. Ryan Jones stormed and harried. Martyn Williams was in his element in a broken-up, sometimes chaotic game. Harry Ellis, for England, was a terrier. Toby Flood oozed class. Martin Corry had a storming game, especially in the second half.

For half an hour, Wales played like the gods they aspire to be. England were battered, wrong-footed and embarrassed. Only a revival shortly before the break, when the Welsh went briefly off the boil, restored near-parity.

The early intensity was dressed in red. Welsh eyes blazed at the anthems and they took their passion into the first exchanges, leaving English bodies strewn from two early Garryowens. Then, before England had warmed up, Wales hurt them fast and hard on the scoreboard, with two pieces of high-energy rugby.

Flood was horrified to see his kick charged down by James Hook and the Ospreys fly-half flopped on the loose ball and was cheered as if it were the championship-winning try by supporters starved of victory all season.

Hook, kicking as assuredly as if he was directing traffic behind a rampaging pack, put Wales 10 points clear on the quarter-hour with a long, languidly struck penalty.

England were flustered. When they did get their hands on the ball, they were well and truly buried. Shane Williams popped up everywhere like an angry bee and one delightful, zig-zagging run took him to within 10 metres. Gethin Jenkins carried it on and, with bodies piling in, Chris Horsman emerged, grinning broadly, ball in hand over the line.

England had gone from flustered to totally rattled. Frustrated, they gave up a needless penalty at the ruck in a rare incursion inside the Welsh 22. Wales were murdering England at scrum, ruck and maul.

Wales, meanwhile, married discipline to full-blooded commitment. Hook was superb as band leader; Gareth Thomas was inspirational. Tom Shanklin, alongside him in a vibrant three-quarter line, ran hard and straight to give young Mathew Tait cause again to dread these opponents, two years on from his nightmare teenage debut.

But Catt, the canniest old stand-off in the game, cut the Welsh adrenalin rush with a glorious jinking break up the middle, chipped the retreating cover 30 metres out and Harry Ellis pounced on the awkward bounce under the posts. It was a tide-turning score.

Flood's conversion and a drop goal reduced the lead to five points six minutes from the interval. Hook, preternaturally cool, struck a touchline penalty with 45 seconds of the session left. Dominance looked to be shifting back.

Then Ellis broke from a scrum inside the England half and spun a long, flat pass to Jason Robinson who kicked like a Gold Cup favourite to finish in his customary style. It seemed hardly credible that England trailed by only three points at the end of a first session that took the breath away.

Catt's hamstring gave up on him soon after the resumption when he chased his own kick. Shane Geraghty joined Flood, and we were treated to the sight of two potentially outstanding fly-halfs auditioning for that spot, as England fought back. As they settled, Flood looked to be in charge of the first pass in defence, Geraghty going forward. Both are fine kickers, but it was Flood who kept that job too, and levelled five minutes in. Now we could start from scratch again.

It was asking a lot for the teams to produce another 40 minutes of such pulsating excitement, but they gave it a go. Wales sometimes got carried away with their remit to entertain, final off-loads not always going where intended, but the uncertainty of their endeavour only added to the drama. They had England hanging on, as Ryan Jones followed Shane Williams through gaps time and again not far from England's line.

The English line-out creaked, and Hook struck the right post from 40 metres. After the expansive, free-running first half, both sides were eager for the merest scrap now. No speculative tap-and-runs. No mad individualism. It was all very well throwing the ball about, but England and Wales went into this match with 49 wins apiece down the years. Pride matters. So does victory.

Passes went to ground. Tackles were missed. Tension grew. Hook potted a sitter, and Wales eased ahead again. After camping for several minutes near England's line, the Welsh were happy to see Hook snap another a neat drop goal. Pragmatism had, for the moment, superseded the urge to play to the raucous gallery.

He put them nine points clear with a soaring penalty from 40 metres seven minutes from time and a period of attrition was in prospect.

Still England harboured hopes of countering, Robinson thrillingly running the ball back at the crimson wall. But Wales stood firm. When it mattered, they got most of their moving parts in order, the forwards tireless, the backs constantly dangerous. England weren't disgraced, just beaten by a more experienced, resurgent Wales. And standing tall at the heart of the Welsh victory was Hook, a fly-half to cherish.